Tailgate Seven Ages of Man
by kepulver
Summary: G1 Transformers Seven short stories of varying lengths, written about the life of Tailgate at various stages of development. Based on William Shakespeare's Seven Ages of Man from As You Like It. Originally written for 7 Minibots fanfic & fanart comm.
1. Infancy

**Infancy**

Springer looked dubiously at the frame Kup and Magnus were working on. "No offense, guys, but are you sure we should be wasting our time with this?"

"We need the extra troops, Springer," Magnus said. "This is the only way."

"It's not the _only_ way," Hot Rod said. "We could always make a try for Vector Sigma, win him back from Shockwave."

"Too risky." Magnus frowned. "It'd cost us time and energon we don't have. Not to mention the idea is to get more troops, not to get the few we have killed."

Hot Rod's shoulders slumped. "Yeah, but this way's risky too. I mean, we don't know that it's going to work."

"We did this sort of kit-bashing all the time before the Emancipation," Kup said, voice calm as he continued welding armor into place. "For pretty much the same reason; they weren't about to let us have free access to Vector Sigma to create more rebels. Alpha Trion hand-hacked this personality component for us; I'll lay it against anything Vector Sigma could create, any day."

With that, Kup stood up and stepped back from the green and white Minibot, staring at it for a moment before finally nodding his head. "That'll do; Arcee, go ahead and install that component, let's bring the little guy online."

"Right," Arcee knelt down and carefully inserted the personality component into its cradle. Her delicate hands made quick work of the necessary connections.

"Done," she said, stepping back toward Hot Rod and Springer who each reached out to pat her on the back. She smiled at them, sliding an arm around each mech's waist as she watched the potential Minibot nervously. "I hope."

"You did good." Kup didn't turn toward her but watched as the Minibot came online, his optics brightening to full awareness. It was a moment he never tired of seeing. When the figure stood, Kup smiled -- not only at the feeling of pride in seeing the new creation's first steps, but also at the quiet and not-so-quiet exclamations of relief and joy behind him. It had worked. The new creation was as alive as any of them. Shockwave might hold Vector Sigma for now, but he would not be able to stop the Autobots from replenishing their ranks.

"What's your name, son?" Kup asked, following the old tradition in spirit if not to the letter.

"Tailgate," said the Minibot. "I'm Tailgate, I want to help free Cybertron."

Kup's smile broadened. "So do we, Tailgate. Welcome aboard."


	2. Childhood

**Childhood:**

Tailgate walked through the crowd, hands brushing over this and that individual as he paused here and there to greet familiar faces and introduce himself to new people.

"Hello, hello!" His optics were bright and sparking as he moved along. "So nice to see you again! So glad you could come! Welcome!"

His friends returned his greetings in their own ways, many were simply companionably silent but he knew they were glad to see him. For many of them, he was their only company. The others didn't come to see them often, and if they did it was usually because they wanted something only his friends could give them. It was disappointing, to say the least, but his friends didn't seem to mind the sacrifices too much.

"I'm sorry it's been so long," Tailgate said. "We've been busy. Shockwave has been trying to find Elita-1's headquarters again but we've managed to make sure she and the others in High Command are safe."

He didn't continue, his friends knew he couldn't talk about such secrets. He trusted them but Shockwave's interrogators knew ways of extracting information from the most loyal of beings.

"I have a new partner," he said, switching subjects to fill the silence. "His name is Pipes; Kup and Magnus built him last orn from the parts you donated. He's very brave and strong and he'll be a credit to you all, I promise."

The wind whispered through the debris and Iacon's dead made no reply. Tailgate shuddered, his engine revving as his hands brushed pensively over the twisted wreckage that was all that remained of someone. Decepticon or Autobot, Tailgate had no way of knowing. Not that he cared; instead he tried to bring what comfort he could to those that were left behind, discarded like so much trash. The others didn't understand. There were times he thought they simply couldn't understand -- the war had eaten away at them for so long they'd forgotten that all mechanical beings were one, regardless of faction.

It didn't matter. He knew. He would remember and maybe, just maybe that would be enough.


	3. Adolescence

**Rating/Warning: **PG; slashy references -- very mild. Shameless ganking of Romantic Poetry for Fannish Purposes.

**Author's Note: **The quoted poem here wasn't actually written by Scansion or me. It's a quote that was provided by beckyh2112 as a prompt for this piece and that I shamelessly filed the serial numbers from and credited to my made-up Cybertronian poet. I blame parallel evolution -- if it was good enough for Gene Roddenberry, it's good enough for me!

In actuality, the lines were originally written in 1821 by Percy Bysshe Shelley (husband of Mary Shelly, author of "Frankenstein") and is part of a larger work called "Epipsychidion".

This story was written to give Tailgate a lighter moment than he's had up until now, poor little crazy guy.

**X X X**

**Adolescence**

"'I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire'," Tailgate said, sinking to the ground with a dramatic flick of his hand to his forehead.

"Huh?" Pipes's voice echoed slightly in the tunnel. "What're you talkin' about, 'Gate?"

"It's a poem," Tailgate said, optics brightening with amusement. "By Scansion. It's from the Golden Age. "'_Woe is me! The winged words on which my soul would pierce Into the heights of love's rare universe, Are chains of lead around its flight of fire-- I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire.'_"

Pipes stared at his fellow Minibot. "Who told you that?"

"I don't know." Tailgate shrugged his shoulders as he turned to pull an emergency resupply crate from where it had been concealed inside a ventilation shaft. "Maybe Kup said it or something."

"Kup doesn't talk like that." Pipes walked over and hunkered down next to Tailgate as he levered the crate open. His fuel gauge jumped happily at the sight of the energon flasks inside. "Hot Rod did once, but Arcee laughed at him until he quit."

Tailgate snickered and handed Pipes an energon flask. "I remember," he said. "He sulked around about it until Springer dragged him off to go drone-hunting."

Pipes poured part of his flask into his fuel tank, optics dimming as his fuel gauge registered the intake. "Don't think that's what they were doing," he said, cautiously. "I mean, that's what they said they were doing but, uhm, they were doing something else."

Tailgate knocked Pipes in the arm. "I knew that!" he said, scoffing. "They were off snogging."

"Huh? How d'you know that?" Pipes asked, more curious than anything.

"I'm a _scout_, Pipes. It's my job to be able to find stuff out!" Tailgate said, mock-indignantly. "Besides, they were doing it near the Tower of Pion, I saw them when I was on the way back from visiting my friends."

"Oh," Pipes said. "They get mad?"

"About what? They didn't see me." Tailgate sounded smug, then giggled. "They were too busy with each other."

"That's not good," Pipes said, engine rumbling. "They coulda got caught -- I mean, y'know, by Shockwave or something."

Tailgate sighed. "Pipes, you worry too much," he said, reaching over to pat the side of Pipes's head. "They're okay now so it doesn't matter if they weren't being okay then, does it?"

"Guess not." Pipes looked pensively down at his energon flask. "But, I mean…why were they doing it?"

"Because it feels good, I guess," Tailgate said. "I asked Magnus about it once and he got really quiet and told me to go talk to Kup. And Kup just said that sometimes people do it because it's necessary for their mental health."

"Huh?" Pipes said. "Why?"

Tailgate sighed again. "Pipes, people can't always be worried about stuff," he said, his voice taking on an instructing tone. "Sometimes, they have to have a release -- whether that's a fight or an argument or a good, hard snog up against a wall. The snog is probably the best way though, since it's pleasure instead of anger or unhappiness, y'know?"

"Uhm…no," Pipes said. "Never done it before."

"Right, but you've heard the others sometimes when they're resting up, right?" Tailgate gave Pipes a look. "I mean, you know those privacy screens Arcee made aren't just for decoration, right?"

Pipes shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah," he said, more defensively than he'd meant to. "I've heard 'em, I just y'know…"

"Didn't know what it meant?" Tailgate teased. "It's okay! I didn't know when I first came online either. I don't think anybody does, except maybe Kup, but he knows everything anyway."

Pipes reached into the resupply crate, pulling out another flask. "You ever done it?" he asked.

"No. I think the others don't want to because I'm weird." Tailgate said it as a matter of fact. "Or because I'm short. Maybe both. I think it might be something that you both have to be the same size to do."

Pipes waited until he had the entire second flask poured into his fuel tank before replying. "We're the same size. I mean, y'know, mostly."

Tailgate's optics brightened as if this fact had never occurred to him before. "You're right! You want to?"

Pipes glanced around the tunnel. "You think this place is secure enough?" he asked.

"Sure," Tailgate said. "Shockwave's drones are too big to come down those tunnels and even if they send an autoscout after us, the motion detectors are set low enough to catch them before they catch us."

"Okay," Pipes said. "Uhm…d'you know _how_ t'do it?"

Tailgate shrugged. "Not a clue, but we can figure that out as we go, right?" He reached out for Pipes, running a hand over the other Minibot's faceplate. "I'm a scout, half the fun's in finding the right way."


	4. The Soldier

**The Soldier:**

The pounding of Shockwave's anti-aircraft guns had started up again, regular as clockwork, on another training round. They provided a constant dull roar that shook their temporary headquarters even five levels down. Kup's audial processors ached from the vibrations.

_Could be worse,_ he thought. _They could know where we are._

It amused him no end that their latest temporary headquarters was within a half dozen klicks of Shockwave's AA batteries. It was risky, but a prime location for setting up a monitoring station to help cover Decepticon activity in Kalis.

But first, they needed Shockwave's guns to stop firing. Moving around while he was taking pot-shots at holographic enemies was simply asking to end up part of a crater. It was down to a waiting game, which was fine. He'd made it this long by being able to hunker down, sit back and wait.

He glanced over at Pips and Tailgate. He'd chosen the two of them because they were small, quick and knew the area. That they could also sit still for longer than half a breem was an unexpected and happy bonus. Pipes was in vehicle mode, plugged into a portable recharge generator as he dozed. Tailgate, the scout on this job, sat near Pipes checking a laser rifle with the utmost care.

"I have to take you apart now," Tailgate said, running his fingers over the rifle's barrel. "It's just to clean you; if we have to start shooting, we'll need you to be at your best. Besides, you'll feel better when it's over. Is it alright?"

Kup frowned slightly, but didn't say anything. That Tailgate talked to inanimate objects didn't bother him -- the fact that the lad waited for answers, on the other hand, was worrisome.

The rifle apparently consented to being field stripped because Tailgate got to work, talking quietly to the rifle the entire time. Kup watched him out of habit, making sure Tailgate followed his training.

"Don't worry," Tailgate said, sounding amused as he removed the rifle's power pack and set it aside. "I'm not going to accidentally shoot you, Kup. You trained me right."

Kup shifted, turning so that he could face Tailgate. "What makes you think I was worried?" he asked.

"Same reason everybody worries about me," Tailgate said. "You all think I'm crazy."

Kup glanced at Pipes, who was still dozing. "He doesn't."

"He does," Tailgate said. "But he doesn't let it bother him the way the others do. He knows he can trust me."

"Kid, if we couldn't trust you, you wouldn't be here," Kup said. "You may be odd, but you're not crazy."

"That's not what the others say," Tailgate said, unscrewing the barrel and setting it in front of him. "Apparently, I give Springer the creeps."

Kup frowned. "He told you that?"

"No," Tailgate said. "Not to my face; I heard him talking to Hot Rod one night. They didn't know I was there." Tailgate looked up from the rifle, one hand petting the weapon's stock, reassuringly. "I'm not mad; my feelings aren't hurt. Please don't tell them I said that, okay?"

"Things like that, they can tear a group apart," Kup said. "I've seen it happen before, Tailgate. I should talk to Magnus about this."

"Please don't?" Tailgate said. "Kup, I scare them because they think I see ghosts. They see me talking to the bodies in Iacon and they think I'm talking to their spirits."

"And you're not?"

"No. Not like they think I do," Tailgate said. "I mean, I've felt things before. Things that might be spirits who have lingered on past their destruction, but nothing I'd call a real ghost. But that's not why I talk to the bodies."

"Why do you?" Kup asked.

"You remember what you said to me? Right after you told me 'Welcome aboard?'" Tailgate stared at him, expression almost painfully earnest. "Remember?"

"I remember," Kup said. "But what's that got to do with it?"

"You told me I was an experiment; that I'd been created to see if it was possible for you to hand-hack personality components, to do an end-run around Shockwave's control of Vector Sigma." Tailgate paused, staring at him with the optics of a zealot, albeit a peaceful one. "You told me that then you handed me a rifle and led me and the others out against that ammo dump. You told me that the chances were good that I wouldn't be coming back from that raid and that if that happened, you'd remember me. You said that that was all you could give me. That that was all any soldier -- that anyone -- could expect. I listened to that Kup and I thought about it, after the raid and it made me realize something important."

"What?" Kup asked, watching Tailgate carefully. He'd worked with hand-hacks before, back in the days before the Emancipation. There were rumors that they were quirkier than the pre-programmed, but he'd never given it much credence -- not until now, at least. "What did you realize?"

"That we have to remember them," Tailgate said. "We have to let them know that they haven't been forgotten. They might not have been much in life but we can at least remember that they lived."

Kup smiled, nodding. "Fair enough," he said. "But that rifle was never alive, so why are you talking to it?"

Tailgate looked up, clearly surprised by the question. "Because it makes him feel better," he said, looking at Kup as if the older mech had asked him why energon was pink. "And if he's happy, he'll be more likely to keep Pipes safe."

"Pipes?" Kup asked.

"Yessir," Tailgate said. "Pipes's hands are clumsier than mine. He's okay with firing, especially since I took off his trigger guard, but he's not so good on maintenance yet. Not enough that I'm going to risk my life and his, that's for sure. So, I take care of his rifle."

Kup leaned back against the wall, reaching for a ration cube. "Proves you're not crazy," he said, with a smile. "Not by my reckoning. When you finish that, plug in alongside Pipes, get some rest and a recharge. Understood?"

"Yessir," Tailgate said, turning his attention back to the rifle. "Understood."


	5. The Justice

**Disclaimer/Author's Note: **I do not own Transformers; story takes place on Cybertron roughly 1 million years ago, at some point after "Infancy," "Childhood," "Adolescence," and "The Soldier" -- time is approximately 500 years after Tailgate's creation (6 vorn 498 years) 

**Justice:**

"I have your friend," said the renegade. "Tell me, little one, is he alive or dead?"

Tailgate hesitated, tightening his grip on his rifle as he tried to judge the renegade's position within the rubble. For a moment, he considered risking sending a ping to Pipes's central processor and locating both the renegade and his friend that way, but doing so would likely give the renegade an idea of where _he _was too. And he still wasn't sure if the renegade had friends of his own nearby.

"Come on, little one, play the game -- is he alive or is he dead?"

Tailgate still didn't answer. There was no point: whatever answer he gave, Pipes's life would be forfeit. If he said Pipes was alive, the renegade would kill him out of spite. If he said Pipes was dead, the renegade would still kill him for the sheer sadistic glee of proving Tailgate 'right.'

No, what he needed to do now was focus on getting himself out of this mess. Then, he could either rescue Pipes himself or spare his friend's remains from desecration at the renegade's hands.

"Little one, you aren't answering the question." The renegade all but sang the words. "That's not the Autobot way! Autobots are supposed to play fair and be honest and aboveboard at all times. Isn't that what Prime told us?"

"I wouldn't know," Tailgate called back, moving as he spoke to try and cloud his location. "I'm only six vorn old. I don't remember Prime."

"Ahh, but you're with Elita-1's faction," the renegade said. "And she's nothing but Prime's obedient little mouthpiece. Look at what she's done to us! Shockwave holds our world, leaving us to fight over scraps and what does she do? She hides! She prolongs this war and leaves us to starve!"

Tailgate didn't answer. In part because he was still moving, trying to use the renegade's ravings to help pinpoint his location. But also because there was no real answer he could give. Technically, the renegade was right. Elita-1 and her team were in hiding, since coming out in the open would bring Shockwave's drone army down on them like a pneumatic hammer on a rivet.

Unfortunately, they were also hidden because of fears of attack from rival Autobot factions. Since the Ark's departure, the war had gone badly for the Autobots. Shockwave and his forces had the advantage of holding most of the planet's energon production plants as well as all the space ports. Food and spare parts were plentiful for the Decepticons, even in these days of near-famine. For the Autobots, however, things were much different.

Tailgate had listened once as Kup had tried to explain the fragmentation of the Autobot cause -- though truth be told, most of the discussion had gone over his head. It all seemed to come down to the fact that while the Decepticons followed Shockwave out of fear and grudging respect for his might, the Autobots were free to disagree and debate with their leaders. And, in the end, this had led to some groups striking off and setting themselves up against not only the Decepticons but also their fellow Autobots, believing them be enemies to the cause.

"You could always join Shockwave," Tailgate said, hoping to set the renegade off on another tirade.

It worked better than Tailgate had expected. "I am _not_ a Decepticon!" The renegade roared. "I am an Autobot! I don't hide or skulk, shrinking from my enemies!"

Tailgate paused, wondering how lying in wait to ambush himself and Pipes wasn't considered hiding and/or skulking.

"Answer my question!" There was a crashing sound as if the renegade were stomping his foot in frustration. "Is he alive or dead?"

"I don't know," Tailgate answered, moving slowly toward the sound of the renegade's voice. "He could be alive or he could be dead. All I do know is that you've got him and I don't like that."

The renegade snickered. "Oh no, you don't like it!" he said. "And what, pray tell, are you going to do about it?"

"That depends," Tailgate said. "If you give Pipes back, I'll let you go."

"You'll _let_ me go?" The renegade laughed. "_You_ will let _me_ go? don't be absurd!"

"Give me my friend back and I'll let you go," Tailgate said. "We can even give you some of our spare rations. It won't be much, but it'll last you a bit."

"Fool, I can kill you both and take what I need!"

"Then in that case, I'm going to have to kill you," Tailgate said, moving forward under the cover of the renegade's mocking laughter and peering around a pile of rubble at his adversary.

"Your ethics won't allow that," sneered the renegade. He was a surprisingly large mech, nearly Magnus's height, but haphazardly maintained. For a moment, Tailgate felt sorry for him. The renegade was alone, hungry and desperate -- a condition Tailgate knew he and his teammates weren't far from themselves. Shockwave had a stranglehold on Cybertron's supply lines; scavenging energon was hard work even with a team.

However, whatever sympathy he had was balanced by the site of Pipes laying in a crumpled heap on the ground, a siphon dripping energon into a nearby cube. Perhaps another mech might have had a problem choosing between duty to a friend and mercy to an enemy but not Tailgate.

"You'd be surprised what I'm allowed to do," Tailgate said, lobbing a pair of magnetic mines in an over handed toss. The mines struck home, latching onto the renegade's chest and began their countdown, beeping in almost cheerful tones.

"Murderer!" The renegade scrabbled at the mines trying to dislodge them as he staggered backwards, weakened finger joints cracking and coming loose in his struggle to save himself. "Murderer!"

"They'll forgive me," Tailgate said, ducking back from the explosion. He waited for the rain of debris to stop before going to Pipes's side, relieved to find that he'd arrived in time -- Pipes was weakened, but alive.

"Knew I guessed right," Tailgate said before radioing Springer for an evac.


	6. Old Age

**Author's Note:** Elise Presser is the human girl who showed up in B.O.T. I figured, if anybody would grow up to become a sociologist working among Transformers, it'd be her. Story takes place roughly in the year 2000. 

**Old Age:**

Tailgate sat in one of the Ark's makeshift workrooms, slowly reassembling a microwave oven.

It was an older model, practically ancient by the standards of such things. Up until earlier that day, it had been in the humans' break room off the science lab. He'd heard them complain about it often enough -- how it would either burn food into unrecognizable carbon one minute and leave it raw and uncooked the next. It was only by pure chance that he'd happened along as Chip and Carly were about to throw it out.

It hadn't taken much persuasion to get them to let him take it away, though neither one had thought it likely that he could repair it.

"It's old, Tailgate," Carly had said. "It's nearly fifteen years old; appliances just aren't meant to last forever."

"She's right," Chip had said, nodding his agreement. "It's called planned obsolescence. Companies want stuff to wear out so people will buy new things."

"Does it hurt for me to try?" Tailgate had asked, holding on to his anger and disgust with an effort. Some of it must have shown through, because Chip had looked embarrassed and Carly muttered something to the effect of "no, of course not" by way of permission.

So, he'd brought the microwave to this workroom and had gone to work on it, carefully disassembling the microwave and laying the parts out. As he always did when he worked on an allegedly non-sentient machine, he talked to it, explaining what he was doing and why.

"Hey, Tailgate! What's up?" The sound of Elise Presser's voice made him look up. She was standing in the doorway, breathing heavily as if she'd run some distance. She brushed her hair out of her eyes as she walked forward. "Carly told me you were down here; you didn't forget that we were supposed to meet up today, did you?"

Tailgate shifted in his seat. "No, but something came up." He gestured to the microwave pieces in front of him. "I'm busy now."

"I can see that," Elise said as she approached the bench. "Carly mentioned you'd rescued Vesta. Any luck yet?"

"No." Tailgate stopped working. "I just got started. I'm not even sure what's wrong with her yet -- other than simple human thoughtlessness."

Elise leaned against the table, head tilted to one side as she looked up at him. Tailgate knew she'd caught the emphasis he'd given "human" but he didn't care. "I'll admit," she said, starting off carefully, "we didn't always treat the old girl well. I've yelled at her a couple times myself, but I usually apologized afterwards."

"That's not what I'm talking about," Tailgate said. "That's bad, but what I'm talking about is worse. A lot worse."

Elise stepped away from the table and over to a packing crate. Pushing against it, she shoved it over against a table leg and climbed onto the crate and then up onto the table. "Okay," she said, sounding a bit winded as she sat down. "So tell me what it is that's a whole lot worse."

"I don't feel like being a test subject right now," Tailgate said. "I've got to work on figuring out what's wrong with her and getting her back together. You can question me later."

"Tailgate, I'm not asking you about this because you're a test subject," Elise said. "I'm asking you about it because you're my friend and you're obviously upset and I want to know why." She paused. "And, admittedly, if it's something that might help me in my research, it'll probably end up in my notes later on, but right now? I'm not Elise Presser, anthropologist. I'm Elise Presser, person who is still grateful to you for helping me get my car back into working shape."

Tailgate hesitated before he answered. On the one hand, he still didn't quite trust humans -- they were a race that enslaved machines with a casual cruelty that at times surpassed even that of the Decepticons. On the other hand, Elise was one of the few humans who actually listened to him when he talked.

And she'd done it from the moment he'd met her -- which admittedly had not gone well. She'd driven up to the Ark in a battered El Camino that was all but screaming in agony and Tailgate had just snapped.

"You did listen then," he said, grudgingly.

"I didn't have much of a choice," Elise said, wrinkling her nose as she grinned at him. "You were standing over me at the time, yelling about what a callous beast I was for driving him up there when any idiot could tell he needed repairs."

"Well, it was true!" Tailgate said. "His timing was shot. He was clearly past due for an oil change. I don't know what you were thinking."

"At the time? I was thinking 'I'm glad I'm wearing clean underwear,'" Elise said. "And I was wondering if Prime was going to faint."

Tailgate allowed himself a small chuckle. "Yeah, Magnus let me have it over that," he said. "I haven't pulled that many third shift watches since I was on Cybertron."

"I know," Elise said. "I remember pulling a couple with you. Not that you were too thrilled about that, as I recall."

Tailgate shifted in his seat, scanning the tools in front of him in order to avoid looking at Elise. "Yeah, well...how's Rusty doing?"

"Right as rain," Elise said. "Purrs like a kitten and runs like a deer. You'd think he just rolled off the assembly line."

"Good," Tailgate said.

"Okay, so tell me what's up with you and Vesta? What's got you so upset?" Elise shifted so that she was sitting cross-legged on the table, her chin resting in her hands. It was, Tailgate had learned, her 'I am listening intently' face and it meant that she was giving someone her full attention. It was also a bit unnerving -- though Pipes swore up and down that Tailgate had a similar expression when he was repairing things.

"It's about planned obsolescence," Tailgate said, studying the microwave's magnetron as he tried to start off calmly. "It's bad enough that humans treat machines like objects, without any respect for them unless they're particularly pretty or powerful, but to build them so they'll break down just so they can be replaced by a new machine and so on and so on is just barbaric!"

Elise nodded. "I know a lot of people who feel the same way," she said. "It's wasteful and more than a bit counterproductive, especially when you consider how much effort we put into trying to recycle other materials. But, surely on Cybertron things broke down."

"Yeah, but if they did we'd fix them," Tailgate said. "We had to! It wasn't like we could walk into a store and buy something new. We didn't have stores and even the Decepticons couldn't afford to throw out perfectly good equipment just because they wanted something new."

Elise didn't say anything, just looked expectantly at him, waiting for him to explain further.

"We didn't -- we _don't_ build things so that they'll wear out," Tailgate said. "We just don't do that. If we build something, it's meant to last."

"Even if it's something you had to jury-rig together?" Elise asked. "Like those spare motion sensors Wheeljack cobbled together last week? If I remember right, he took them apart after he was done with them. He even said that they were just temporary."

Tailgate looked up from the microwave, suddenly. "That's different."

"How?"

Tailgate looked down, keeping his optics on the microwave's internals, focusing on the magnetron. "I don't know," he said. "But it feels like it is. Those parts will get used for something else; they're not just going to be tossed out because Wheeljack doesn't like the color."

"Point," Elise said. "How is she?"

"Not good," Tailgate said. "Magnetron is shot. I know we don't have any in stores that'll fit her but...I don't know, I can ask Pipes to look around maybe."

"Or we could make a few calls," Elise said. "Give me the make and model and I'll see what I can do. There's a few electronics stores in town, somebody might have what we need."

"You don't have to," Tailgate said. "I mean...I've kinda been a jerk."

"Yeah, but you're still my friend," Elise said. "Besides, it's in my best interest to help you get Vesta fixed. Otherwise, Spike just might try to cook again."

"That's bad?"

"On a scale of abominations, it's right up there with New Coke but not quite as bad as Madonna's American Pie cover."

"And that's bad?"

"Tailgate, you have no idea," Elise said, sliding off the side of the table and dropping to the floor. "C'mon, I'll educate you while we make those calls."


	7. Death

**Author's Note: **The Keith Richards incident was something originally reported in the magazine NME, I first heard of it over at FandomLounge. Apparently, Keith Richards has come forward and said that he meant it as a joke and he was really surprised people actually took him seriously. Figure this story takes place before Elise finds out it's fake. Or in this world, he really did snort his father. Story takes place roughly in 2007, shortly after the events in "Rebirth (aka G1 US Season 4)

**X X X **

**Death:**

"Okay, _this_ is gross." Elise Presser looked up from her laptop, her face scrunched up in distaste.

"What is it?" Tailgate asked, lifting an empty packing crate onto the recharge berth he shared with Pipes.

"Keith Richards _snorted_ his father." Elise looked expectantly at him, clearly waiting for his agreement about the grossness of the situation.

"Oh." Tailgate turned back to his packing. "Yeah, that's pretty horrible alright."

"Nice try, 'Gate; stop pretending you know what I'm talking about." Elise shifted her weight, pulling her legs up so that she could sit cross-legged on the already packed crate she was using as a combination table and desk.

"Then stop talking to me like you expect me to understand."

"Fair enough," Elise said. "Keith Richards is a musician in a band called the Rolling Stones, but his real claim to fame is that he's done more drugs than a lab rat. Cocaine, speed, alcohol -- you name it, and he's probably done it."

"Ahh, I understand now," Tailgate said. "Thank you for clearing that up."

"I wasn't finished, smartass!" Elise said. "Apparently, he just admitted in an interview that a couple years ago he actually mixed his father's ashes with cocaine and snorted them." Elise shuddered. "And _that_ is what's gross."

"Why?" Tailgate pulled a box of power packs out of a drawer and putting them into the crate.

"Well, it's his dad's remains -- I mean, his dead body, after it'd been burned to ash -- and he sucked it up his nose." Elise said. "It's not quite as bad as eating him would have been but it's pretty close."

"You do realize me and Pipes were built from the remains of dead Cybertronians, right?" Tailgate turned to look at her.

It was typical of Elise that she managed to look sheepish and embarrassed even as her fingers flew over her keyboard. "Sorry," she said. "And I knew that but, well, I guess maybe humans have different taboos about death than Cybertronians do?"

"I know what you're doing, Presser," Tailgate said. "You think I could get a break? I've got stuff I've got to get done before Pipes and I catch the shuttle back home."

"C'mon, 'Gate, this is my last chance to really talk to you before you and Pipes leave for Nebulous." Elise's grin faltered. "I'm going to miss you, y'know that?"

"Yeah, I'm sure you can find somebody else to talk to you." Tailgate turned away from her, voice gruff. "Sandstorm's pretty chatty."

"It's not the research, Tailgate!" Elise said. "Well, okay, not i just /i the research. I've learned a lot from you, enough for decades' worth of papers, but I like to think of you as a friend too. It's going to be hard not being around you anymore."

Tailgate looked down into his packing crate, fingers flexing and unflexing in irritation. Even after fifteen years on Earth, he still didn't like humans much, but Elise was...well, she was less irritating than most of them. "I'll call," he said. "And I'll have access to the diplomatic shuttles once we reach Nebulous so I can write and you can write me back."

"That, I can do. Just promise me you and Pipes will be careful okay? I know the Decepticons have been chased off, but nobody with any sense really thinks they're gone for good." Elise removed her glasses and wiped at her face. "Damnit, I hate this -- my emotions all have to leak out of my eyes. God!"

"We'll be careful," Tailgate said. "Don't worry about us. Worry about Nebulous. From what I hear they've got an even worse attitude about machines than you humans do."

Elise laughed, the strange gulpy laugh that meant she was fighting back tears. "Oh, you are just an interplanetary incident waiting to happen, aren't you?" she said. "Give 'em hell, Tailgate."

"I'm going to be nice and rational about things," Tailgate said with wounded innocence. "I'm just going to make it clear to them that life is life regardless of whether or not it's solid machinery or sticky mobile goo with hair. I'm going to be calm and collected and I'll speak in small words so they'll understand me."

Elise snorted. "Righhht," she said. "I'll be watching the newsfeeds for word on how well you do," she said. "Now, can I get in a few questions about Cybertronian views on dead bodies while you finish packing? I'm thinking I can get an article for Scientific American out of this."

Tailgate sighed, long-suffering and dramatic. "Fine, but I've got a flight in twelve hours so keep it brief, okay?"


End file.
